


For a Wraith

by wednesday



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-01-16 13:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12343737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/pseuds/wednesday
Summary: "I know!" Geralt said, clearly aware of the strangeness of the story. "And it was-- He was in this ridiculous jewel-encrusted ceremonialtravesty," he gestured at his own chest in a wide arc nearly spilling his beer, "standing next to Ciri, who was wearing a reasonable silver-plated chainmail and, and actual working swords!""Don't tell me he didn't have a sword," Vernon said. Just, no. He was going to weep. And laugh. Weep and laugh at the same time.





	For a Wraith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skitz_phenom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/gifts).



"-and of course then she turns to me and says 'Geralt, this is prince Aloyze var Amell of Nazair, he's here adventuring, we should take him with us for  _better odds_ '," Geralt said in a high-pitched imitation of Ciri. Well, higher pitched than usual at any rate – Vernon wasn't sure Geralt was capable of changing his voice enough to truly sound like a woman.

"Of  _Nazair_? How--?"

" _I know_!" Geralt said, clearly aware of the strangeness of the story. "And it was-- He was in this ridiculous jewel-encrusted ceremonial  _travesty_ ," he gestured at his own chest in a wide arc nearly spilling his beer, "standing next to Ciri, who was wearing a reasonable silver-plated chainmail and, and actual working swords!"

"Don't tell me he didn't have a sword," Vernon said. Just, no. He was going to weep. And laugh. Weep and laugh at the same time.

Geralt stilled as much as he was able – he was still swaying a little – looked Vernon in the eye and said seriously, "No."

" _No,_ " said Vernon, because  _no_.

Geralt kept staring, serious and grim-faced for a few seconds like he was trying to make some point, and then suddenly broke down in laughter. Vernon couldn't help but follow; the whole story seemed so ridiculous, but by the gods, he had no doubt that's exactly what had happened. Geralt was so far into his cups he couldn't have lied to save his life.

They were the last two left, the other side of the table empty. Zoltan had abandoned them half an hour ago to talk with a couple of familiar dwarves a table over, and by now was mostly asleep where he sat, head pillowed on the table. Dandelion was, unsurprisingly, chatting with the singers and giving unsolicited advice to the musicians by the stage.

"Why was he even there? That's not anywhere near his lands, why did he care about some foreign peasants being eaten by a wraith?" Vernon asked, because any moment now this was all going to start making sense.

"Oh, yes,  _the peasants_  were what he was concerned about, surely," Geralt said, dry as bone.

Vernon finished his beer, he couldn't even remember which one it was. He'd been so morose just a few hours earlier and now he could feel his face hurt from laughing too much. Faintly, because the beer had muted everything considerably.

He considered getting another pint, but the night was too joyous for Vernon to want to erase it from memory with the help of cheap spirits. There was nothing quite as uplifting as hearing about another man's troubles with his daughter – it made his own seem like a gift from the gods instead of the nightmare it often seemed to be.

"Hmm?" Vernon made an inquiring sound and waved with his hand for Geralt to continue.

"The most adventuring he'd ever done in his life was calculating the taxes!" Geralt half shouted. "Also the most interaction he'd ever had with peasants."

Vernon saw an easy resolution to the main uncertainty he was preoccupied with – he easily swiped Geralt's half empty pint while he was distracted. Geralt either didn't notice or, more likely, pretended to because he didn't mind.

"But then why?"

"He was there for Ciri! It was- It was some kind of attempt to impress her! He-" Geralt erupted in laughter again; he tried to continue with the story, but Vernon couldn't understand a single word and had to wait for Geralt to calm down.

"He screamed louder than the wraith, I don't think Ciri's ever been  _less_  impressed with someone," Geralt said and swayed dangerously. He caught himself by taking hold of the back of Vernon's jacket and kept holding on, his hand a warm pressure against Vernon's back.

"He did help with the odds! He helped the wraith quite a lot! It took effort to hit the thing with his golden monstrosity of an armor blinding us," Geralt said, some left over annoyance at prince Aloyze var Amell still showing in his voice. "He almost stabbed Ciri with a blunted ceremonial dagger!  _And he tried to propose right after,_ " Geralt finished with the most incredulous expression that Vernon had ever seen on his face. For a single dizzy moment he looked so young, but then Vernon blinked and it was over.

Yet again they stared at each other in silence for a little while. This time when they lost the fight with their laughter, it took a good few minutes until they stopped.

"No, but how did he even know who she was? Or did he fall madly in love with a witcheress that saved him from a common wraith?"

Geralt's face visibly soured. "Oh, he knew. He wasn't the first adventurer Ciri's brought along on a hunt." He somehow made the word  _adventurer_ sound exactly like  _week-old dead drowner_  with just the tone of his voice.

"She can't possibly be going around giving out her full name!"

"No, no. I think Emhyr's known for a while now and keeps sending these idiots. He wants her to marry one of them. Or maybe he's hoping they'll disappear without a trace and he'll have fewer idiots on his hands, I don't know."

"He hasn't tried to get her to go back to Nilfgaard?" Vernon asked, concern bleeding across his thoughts. If Geralt and Ciri needed to disappear again-- Well, he probably couldn't help much against an empire, but surely he couldn't leave friends in trouble, either.

"No," Geralt said, unbothered, and dismissed all of Vernon's worries with a lazy wave of his hand. "He must know she won't go anywhere she doesn't want to. I have no idea if he's tried and she made a fool of whoever he sent or what." He seemed deeply displeased with not knowing.

Vernon knew the feeling of not knowing enough about the trouble Ves kept getting into  _so well_ , and he laughed and Geralt tried to shake him weakly with the hand still clutching his jacket. "Shut up, don't laugh, I've  _asked her_  and she won't tell me! She just pretends not to hear me and says there are a lot of young adventurers in these parts. Young adventurers my foot! One of them was wearing  _silk slippers_ -even Emhyr couldn't want that for a son in law."

Geralt felt silent, probably contemplating the many misfortunes and hardships one was destined to face as a parent. Vernon took the moment to finish off Geralt's beer as well, the pile of tankards on the table now empty all. Zoltan had tried, with grave focus, to arrange them in some kind of order earlier, but no one could tell what that order was supposed to be.

"Ah, so maybe he is trying to get rid of competition for the throne," he said.

"Silk slippers, Roche, a man  _walking into a swamp_  wearing silk slippers couldn't possibly be on the same playing field as the White Flame Dancing on--"

"Now, Geralt, you can't judge a man so harshly," Vernon said trying to conceal his glee rather unsuccessfully, "I'm sure Emhyr var Emreis has  _plenty_ other talents, even if fashion isn't among them."

They both fell into each other's side and broke down into laughter again, for the hundredth time that night. A comfortable stillness fell between them as the laughter turned into drunken giggles and then silence. It was nice to have a friend he could laugh about the Emperor of Nilfgaard with. He was constantly surrounded by either the kind of company where a joke about the Emperor would mean his death or the kind that would rather plan the gruesome death of the Emperor than joke about him.

Vernon looked around the tavern – Zoltan was still asleep at the next table, the two other dwarves now having a loud argument over his head. The bard was gone from the side of the raised musician’s stage. It was getting late or early or something that meant he’d have to reluctantly go back to his responsible life very soon.

"Ah, I should--"

"Dandelion seems to have the right idea," Geralt said the same breath that Vernon was about to excuse himself. Geralt tilted his head to the side and Vernon indeed saw Dandelion, now stealing up the stairs hand around the waist of one of the singers, her red dress paling next to Dandelion’s garish- everything.

Vernon turned back to Geralt, who was now leaning very close and looking rather intently into his eyes.

"You," Vernon said and then stopped, as he had no idea what he’d been about to say. Geralt stayed close, hand around Vernon’s back and their sides pressed together.

"You should stay the night, Roche. There’s all kinds of dangers out there at night," Geralt said, completely unconcerned about Roche’s ability to find his way home in the dark.

"It’s a busy night, I don’t think there’ll be any rooms left," he said because he could stretch this moment a wile longer.

"Mhm, probably," Geralt agreed in a pleasant voice. "Naturally you’ll have to stay with me then."

" _Naturally,_ " Vernon repeated slowly and shook his head in disbelief. "Well, lead the way, then."

And Geralt gave it his best effort, but of the two of them he was least capable of walking in a straight line, so in the end Vernon had to lead Geralt up to the room and then to the bed.

 

 

 


End file.
